


serenadia

by ienablu



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Inception
Genre: Crossover Pairings, F/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Cobb meets her when he's four years old. River Song meets him fifty-some years later when she's nineteen. In between there's meetings in cafes, funerals, extractions, sex, ontological paradoxes, a wedding reception and the establishment of a non-existent committee -- though not necessarily in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	serenadia

**Author's Note:**

> Repost. Two years later, I still have no idea where I got the idea for James/River, and I still have a fond spot for this.
> 
> Quick content notice: This story contains discussion of suicide, (off-screen) character death, and drug use. Having been written prior to series six, it has been more than a bit jossed.

**_i_ **

James and Phillipa are outside drawing chalk figures on the back porch when the doorbell rings. Phil is immediately on her feet and pulling James to his as well. They race through the kitchen and down the hall, Phil ahead of him, because she's older and faster. She gets there first, and throws the door open.

There's a man at the door. James doesn't know him, and he shrinks behind Phil, although she doesn't seem scared as the man bends down. "Hello, cutie. Is your dad home?"

"Yeah, he's in the study," Phil says. James peeks over her shoulder and sees that she's smiling and biting her bottom lip.

The man waits for a second, before asking, "Can I talk to him?"

"I'm sure you can."

The man chuckles, smiling widely. " _May_ I talk to him?"

"Sure, hold on one second." She turns and yells, "Daddy!"

Daddy comes running seconds later. He stays in the doorway, looking around, scared. He walks into the breezeway, and stands next to Phil. "What do you need sweetie?" he asks Phil, though he keeps his eyes on the man.

Phil looks up at him. "He wants to talk to you."

The man stands up, then holds out his hand. "Captain Jack Harkness," he says, smiling.

Daddy shakes his hand, but he's frowning. "Dom Cobb."

"I'm Phillipa," Phil says. "But everyone calls me Phil."

Captain Jack smiles at her, before looking back to Daddy. "Mr. Cobb, I was wondering if we could talk in private?" He's still smiling, but he doesn't sound happy.

"Why?" Daddy asks, and he sounds angry.

Captain Jack says something, but it's real quiet and James can't hear him. Neither can Phil, so she huffs.

Daddy frowns, then crouches down. "Phil, sweetie, can you take Jamie outside, and tell Uncle Arthur to come in, please?" Daddy asks, his voice sounding strange.

"Yes Daddy," Phil says. She grabs James' hand, then starts tugging him towards the back of the house. Sometime weird is going on, and James grips Phil's hand tighter as she leads him back outside.

Uncle Arthur is watching them as they come back out. "Everything alright? Who was at the door?" he asks, sounding happier than he looks.

"Captain Jack Harkness."

Arthur frowns. "Who?"

"Don't know. He wants to talk to you and Daddy, but I couldn't hear what they wanted to talk about," Phil explains.

Uncle Arthur ruffles James' and Phil's hair as he passes, hurrying inside, but he's still frowning.

The last time James saw so many people frowning was when his maman fell out a window.

"Don't worry, Jamie," Phil says, pulling her hand away from James'. "Nothing bad is going to happen. Not while I'm around. Now, where's the orange chalk?"

James passes her the stick of orange chalk from where it rolled to the edge of the porch. They settle, continuing the drawings from earlier. James is happy to stay safe outside until the stranger leaves, but Phil keeps fidgeting and looking towards the house.

Then there's a funny noise, like a _vworp._

Phil looks at James, then smiles, biting her bottom lip. She holds her finger to her mouth and shushes him. She opens the porch door.

James follows her. "Where are you going?" he whispers, loud enough that she can hear her.

"Daddy told me to take you outside. He didn't tell me to _stay_ outside," Phil explains, stepping into the house.

"Oh," James says, looking down at his feet.

Phil is looking at him, like she's waiting. "He didn't tell you to stay outside either."

James stands there, confused, and then Phil grabs his hand and pulls him inside. They make their way through the house, real quiet.

There are raised voices coming from the living room. James doesn't understand what they're saying, only that they sound angry.

All the grown-ups are standing around. There's Daddy, Uncle Arthur, Jack and a strange woman that wasn't there before. She looks as old as Daddy. She has brown hair that's real curly, and pulled back in a ponytail.

Phil barges into the room, even though there are two strangers, but she isn't scared at all. James is, and he wants to run somewhere safe, but Phil is his big sister, and he's safe as long as he's near her, so he scampers after her.

The grown-ups all go quiet as they turn to look at them.

James moves closer to Phil.

"Phil, Jamie, I thought I told you to go outside," Daddy says.

"But you didn't tell us to _stay_ outside," Phil retorts.

Jack laughs.

Phil turns to him. "Why were you yelling at Daddy?"

James wants to tell her that nobody really likes Daddy, except maybe Arthur. But that might make the grown-ups look at him funny.

"We weren't yelling at your father," the strange lady says. She speaks funny, like Mister Eames. "We were just having a minor disagreement."

Phil stares at her for a few seconds, then walks over and holds out her hand. "Hi, I'm Phil. Who are you?"

"I'm Dr. River Song," she says. She shakes Phil's hand, then looks at James. "And who is this dashing young man?"

Without Phil to hide behind, James feels scared. He looks to her for guidance, but she just gestures at Doctor Song.

He shuffles closer to her, and holds his hand out. "I'm James," he says.

She shakes his hand, and smiles. "It's an honor to meet you."

 

 

**_x_ **

It hurts.

It's like there's a lump in his chest, and everything is tight around it, and the harder he sobs the worse it gets, and it just _hurts_.

There's the distinct sound of clacking heels behind him, and he just knows it's her.

Sure enough, moments later, River slides onto the stool beside him. Mercifully, she doesn't say anything, just puts a hand on his arm.

The last time they saw each other -- or at least, the last time he had seen her -- he was at the top of the game, his highest of highs; he should be embarrassed to be seen like this, but he lost any sense of shame five shots ago. James takes a few deep breathes to compose himself, and wipes at his face with his cuffs -- but that last time he had done that was when Dom had died, and Arthur had gently scolded him for it. James breaks down at the memory, and he ducks his head.

"He's... he's dead," he finally manages to croak.

River frowns. "Your father?"

"No, Dom died years ago." James pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, it was--"

"Your uncle?" she provides.

James inhales sharply, and nods. "Yeah. Wasn't really my uncle, though. Just Dom's friend. But still a better father to me though than Dom ever was. He -- he's the one I remember when I was really young. After maman died, Dom took off, but Arthur--" the name comes out as a choke, and he swallows a few times before he can continue, "--he was there. And even after Dom came back, he stuck around. Once Dom died, he stayed. He did everything. Took me to school. Met with my teachers. Took me out driving. Woke me up every day of high school. Taught me about the PASIV. Bought me my first suit. Offered to pay for college, and then he just -- he fucking killed himself."

River frowns. "Are you sure?"

"He downed an entire bottle of pain pills," James says, his voice sounding slurred and bitter even to his own ears. "He would pop pills like candy before, but a whole bottle?"

Tears are welling up again, and he grinds his hands into his eyes, trying to soothe the burn.

"I'm so sorry," River says. And it's not like it was those years ago at Dom's funeral; her voice is heavy, the sorrow is genuine, and the sympathy is real. She's probably suffered some loss since, and as terrible as it is, he feels a bit better.

 

 

**_iv_ **

They're visiting Paris for the first time in years.

It's a warm spring afternoon, and Phil insists that it's too good of a day to spend more time in a car, even though James doesn't really want to walk around Paris for the rest of the day.

They saw all of the main tourist attractions the last time they came, however long ago that was, and Dom asks where they all want to go this time.

James wants to see if his maman's childhood house is still up.

Dom's expression clouds when James says this, and his voice is tight as he asks Phil if there's anywhere she'd want to go.

James is fourteen years old, but he is seriously considering throwing a temper tantrum.

Thankfully Arthur steps in, placing a placating hand on James' shoulder and suggesting they go to a nice bakery he knows.

Dom and Phil both agree.

James mumbles a _whatever_ , shaking off Arthur's hand. He sulks all the way there.

It's a quaint little bakery, settled on a nice back street. A sign hangs from a post above the store, curvy letters spelling out some French name, and there are a handful of wrought iron patio tables scattered below it. Even though the weather is nice out, the tables are all empty. Instead, they enter the bakery to see the entire place is packed, the sun filtering through the large storefront window making it warmer inside than out. There is one empty table left, stuck in the middle of the bakery, and as a lifelong habit, Phil grabs James' hand and pulls him towards it.

Arthur and Dom go up to make the order, James sits with his back to the window, and no matter how much James pleads, Phil's seat has a nice view outside and she refuses to move, which leaves Dom sitting to his left.

James takes one of the croissants Dom offers, scarcely mumbling thanks under his breath.

It's buttery and flaky and _delicious_ , and he hates it for making him feel better.

Phil is chatting away, with Arthur and Dom listening intently. James tunes her out utterly and completely, and starts counting down the time until they go home.

And then Phil inhales sharply, and twists around in her seat.

James looks up from his stupid delicious croissant, and sees that she's blatantly checking out the guy who's at the register. He's tall and lanky, dressed in tweed, and talking in rapid French to the confused looking woman behind the register.

"He's cute!" Phil says in a hushed whisper, still half turned in her seat.

James glances back at the guy, who has a strong jaw and a general crazed look about him, and makes a face. "Not really."

Phil rolls her eyes at him. "What do you know?" She turns to Dom, her voice sweetening as she says, "He's cute, isn't he, Daddy?"

"Oh please," James says, making a show of rolling his eyes. "What does he know?"

There's an awkward silence. Arthur and Dom share a look that probably means something really significant, while Phil just gives him that look like he should know better. James looks downwards, and wishes his croissant wasn’t so delicious.

“Well,” Arthur says, after a few tense moments, “I’m afraid you’re out of luck, Phil. It looks like he’s already spoken for.”

Phil whips around in her seat.

Up at the cash register, there’s a woman next to the guy, and she's handing over a couple of euros. The guy looks slightly bewildered to see her, and James can't blame him -- if a hot chick appeared at his side randomly, he would probably be a bit surprised too. She laughs at something he says, her dark blond curls bouncing.

Then James is kicked in the shins.

He bites down a yelp of pain, and glares at Phil. "What?"

"Stop being so obvious, it's embarrassing," Phil says.

James snorts. "If you can be obvious when checking out the guy, I can be obvious checking out the chick."

"I wasn't being obvious."

"Yes you were."

"Nu-uh," Phil retorts, smiling just slightly.

James feels like he's four again as he immediately replies with "Yeah huh."

"Nu-uh."

"Yeah--"

"Children," Dom interrupts. He sounds exasperated, but he's not bothering to hide his smile, and neither does Arthur.

James debates the merits of kicking Phil, but instead sticks his tongue out at her and goes back to eating his croissant.

 

 

**_vi_ **

James looks up from his bio text book as a woman sits herself across from him. He squints at her. "I know you."

"Yes."

The memories are shifting in the back of his mind. "You were at my dad's funeral."

"Yes."

"You're a lot older than you were back then."

"Haven't you ever heard it's impolite to bring up a lady's age?"

She doesn't say anything else, and he looks at her expectantly. She does the same.

After a few moments, James coughs. "Is there any reason why you're here...?"

"Yes."

He rolls his eyes at the repetition, while she pulls out a blue journal.

"First, I need you to sign this," she says, pushing a blank business card towards him.

"Why?"

"You'll find out."

She looks completely serious, so James slowly signs his signature.

She nods and picks it back up, tucking it into the journal. Next she pulls out a map, and starts jotting things down on it. "Alright," she says, folding the map back up, "Now, tomorrow, you need to be here at three--"

"I have a class."

"--and make sure you're not in possession of anything you wouldn't mind losing."

"I have class," James repeats.

She peers at him. "Are you always so contrary?"

James bristles. "Here, three, got it."

"And make sure to be well-rested."

"Alright," he says, beginning to wonder if this is just some some lucid dream. "That all?"

She considers it. "Yes." Then she stands up and starts off.

James stares after her for a moment, then scrambles to shove his books into his bag before darting out after her.

She's half a block from the coffee shop already.

"Hey!" he calls, jogging to catch up with her. "Wait!"

"Oh," she says, turning as he approaches. "I almost forgot."

She cups his cheek in her hand, leans in and kisses him.

Thoroughly.

He's completely dazed as she pulls back. He hasn't had much experience in the dating pool, but he's pretty sure that she's a damn good kisser.

"Oh, and make sure to wear good running shoes tomorrow," she adds, and then she's gone.

 

 

**_vii_ **

He checks the time on his phone. Class doesn't end for another twenty minutes, if he hurries he can at least be there when class gets out and try and talk himself out of the hole his absence made for him, but it'd be easier if he had his messenger bag on him--

His train of thought is abruptly derailed as two figures run into him. He's ditched class for nothing and he's not in the mood to be polite, but before he can snap at them, he recognizes one of them. "River?"

"James?" River asks.

"James, lovely to see you again," the man beside her says hurriedly, "but River and I are in the middle of a... thing, and we really don't have time to stand around and chat, so--"

"Are you wearing a good pair of running shoes?" River interrupts.

James furrows his brow. "Of course I am -- you told me to."

"Good," she says, grabbing his hand, " _run_."

They're down two blocks before James has the presence of mind to yell, "Why are we running?"

"Because they're after us," River calls back.

"Who's after us?"

"The Athwics!"

"Who are the--" James is cut off as the man grabs his elbow and pulls him and River down an alleyway.

"I think we've lost them," the man says, peering out around the wall.

James leans against the grimy wall of the alley. "Who are the Athwics?" he asks, once he's caught his breath. "And sorry, who are you?"

"Right, introductions. I'm the Doctor, that's River Song. I'm a Time Lord, she's an archeologist, and we're both rather mysterious so don't bother asking any questions," he says, pulling out some triangular piece of machinery, and holding it up to the sky.

"Alright," James says slowly. "Of course. I'm James."

"Yes, yes, I know who you are," the Doctor says, fiddling with a few knobs.

"How?"

The Doctor ignores him, attention solely on the odd piece of machinery in his hands.

James looks to River, but she's focused on the blue journal he saw her with last time. The Doctor told him not to ask questions, so James slowly prompts, "So the Athwics..."

"The Athwics," the Doctor explains, "have started colonizing. Empty planets, deserted planets, not a problem. But when they find a planet they like that is already occupied, then they try and destroy every living thing on the planet so they can take it over. That's not a problem, not now anyway, because all ships have an emergency function that will teleport all the Athwics in the area back to the ship, and the ship will start back to their home planet, and once they're gone the TARDIS will finally come back, hopefully, and then River and I can go talk to the king of the Athwics and we can get this all sorted out. Where's the nearest research facility?"

It takes a moment for James to realize the Doctor has addressed the last part to him, and a moment more for him to replay what he said. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" the Doctor repeats, frowning. "How do you not know?"

"I don't know the area that well."

River looks just as surprised. "You've lived here for seven years, how do you not know the area?"

"I never--" James cuts himself off. His brow furrows as he asks, "How do you know that?"

"According to the readings of the area," the Doctor says, a touch louder than necessary, "we should head this way."

"We're not going to have to run, are we?" James asks, pushing himself off the wall.

"Unless we run into them, no," the Doctor says as he leads them t

River falls into step with James, and quietly says, "So most likely, yes, we are going to have to run."

"I heard that," the Doctor calls from ahead of them.

They walk in silence, except for the odd trills coming out of the machine the Doctor is holding. James debates asking a wide variety of questions, but the silence is oddly companionable, so he bites his tongue.

The trills get progressively louder, until the Doctor stops and turns to his right. "This is it."

James looks around. "What building?"

River plants her hands on either side of James' head, and directs him to where the Doctor is pointing. "There's a perception filter around the building, which is why you can't quite see it."

"Oh," James says, staring straight ahead. He knows there's a building there, or at least that there's probably a building there, but it seems fuzzy, and he's tempted to look elsewhere for it.

"Not to worry, though," the Doctor says, and then there's a low humming noise, and the building suddenly comes into view.

James looks between the building and the Doctor, until he notices the Doctor holding something that's glowing green at one end. "What's that?"

"It's a sonic screwdriver," the Doctor says, striding towards the building.

"What's it do?" James asks as he follows, eyeing the building warily.

"Almost everything, including deactivating perception filters, and..." the Doctor points it at the lock on the door, which snaps open, "unlocks most doors."

"So what are we doing here again?" James asks, still wary as he follows them in.

"Looking for the Athwics' ship," the Doctor replies. "It would probably be in the basement or on the roof, so we should--"

"Run," River finishes for him. Both look at her, and she very calmly says, "James, you know how you wanted to know what an Athwic was?"

And then she turns her gaze towards the entrance to the building. James and the Doctor both follow her line of sight.

James wasn't sure what he was expecting an Athwic to look like, but this isn't it. They look like a bunch of ten year old kids, and James is about to say as much before he realizes that they have horns. And fangs.

The Athwics are slowly making their way towards them, teeth bared, and James never thought he'd be afraid of something that looked almost half his age, but he finds himself taking a step back anyways.

River stays where she is, and the Doctor steps forward.

"You can't harm us," the Doctor says, whipping out what looks like a leather badge, "we're part of the Ataraxani Committee."

The Athwics take a few steps back at that, and huddle together, talking rapidly.

They seem to be pretty absorbed in their discussion, so James asks, "What's the Ataraxani Committee?"

"I'm not sure," the Doctor says, out of the corner of his mouth, "I just made it up."

"How can you be a card-carrying member of a committee that doesn't exist?"

River starts laughing quietly. "Oh, Doctor, oh James, you are both so brilliant.”

"It's psychic paper, it tells you whatever you want to know. See?" The Doctor flashes the paper at him.

James cocks his head to the side. "It says you're gay."

River laughs harder. "Of course it does." When they look at her curiously, she shakes her head. "Spoilers."

"We have determined," one of the Athwics says, stepping forward, "that the Ataraxani Committee is not a real committee, and if they were, they would not be a threat."

"Ah, well, it was worth a shot," the Doctor says, before turning to the two behind him. "James, River, run!"

And then they're running again. And even though he's well-rested, James is not in that great of shape, so the minute the Doctor pulls them into a small office, he's leaning over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He's aware of the Doctor and River talking hurriedly, but he can't make out what they're saying over the thumping of his heart.

By the time he looks up, River is gone, and then the Doctor is tugging him into hallway.

"Now James, listen to me," the Doctor says, leaning in and gripping James' shoulders, "in order for this to work, I need five uninterrupted minutes, which means I need you to distract them."

James doesn't point out that he missed what this plan is, and instead asks, "How?"

"Try making a big speech, that always works. You look the type to be good at big speeches."

"I'm not," James says. "I either get so nervous that I ramble, or I get so nervous that I freeze up and become speechless."

"Then I need you to ramble, James. This is important, millions and millions of lives are at stake here."

"That's... really not helping."

"Try imagining them all in their underwear," the Doctor suggests.

James blanches. "They look like they're ten years old."

"Then think of something else." The Doctor leans in closer, and his voice is quieter as he says, "James Cobb, whether you know it or not, you are _brilliant_ , and I need you to be brilliant right now."

"Right," James says faintly, not sure how else to respond, "rambling, not freezing."

"Atta boy," the Doctor says, giving his shoulders one more squeeze before disappearing off down a hall.

James nods to himself. "Right," he repeats, turning to await the arrival of the Athwics. He can do this, he tells himself. He can do this.

The Athwics show up a few moments later.

"Get out of the way, puny human," the one in the front snarls.

"No," James replies, hoping it was panicked to his ears only.

"We are going to take your planet, and there is nothing you can do to stop us."

He has a sinking sensation that they're right, but he still says, "I can try."

The last statement came out with a surprising amount of conviction, and the Athwic stare at him, as if waiting for him to try.

James is at a complete loss of what to say. He debates telling the Athwics about how much the world sucks and they probably shouldn't want it, but the more he thinks about arguing that point, the more he realizes that it may not be true. For all that his life has sucked up until now, there's a whole world out there, and James has barely experienced a fraction of it. James' heart speeds up as he realizes there is so much more that he can do.

But he has a feeling that might not be the most compelling argument, and the Athwics are starting to look impatient.

James opens his mouth, and rambles. He rambles like his life depends on it, and briefly remember that it does. He has no idea what he's saying, his brain is completely disconnected from his mouth, but the Athwics aren't coming any closer, and that's all that counts right now, so he keeps rambling.

And then suddenly they're gone. James blinks. There was no noise, no flash of light, just one moment they were there and the next they were gone. James blinks again, almost expecting them to come back as instantly as they came.

They don't.

It's a bit anti-climactic, really, and James is a bit in a daze as he makes his way back outside. The Doctor is standing by the sidewalk, gaze skyward, while River is making her way over to him. When he's in reach, she pulls him into a quick hug.

"You are brilliant," she says. "I could kiss you."

"Okay," James says, stupidly. He blames it on the adrenaline.

River looks at him contemplatively, and opens her mouth to say something, but she's interrupted by a triumphant laugh.

"Here she comes," the Doctor is saying, opening his arms up wide.

"Later," River promises with a smile, before joining the Doctor at his side.

There's an odd, lour whirring noise, and James watches as a blue phone box fading into view. And then he stares as the Doctor opens the doors with a flourish and strides in. River follows, but pauses in the doorway. "You coming?" she asks.

James takes a few hesitant steps towards the phone box. It doesn't look like it's big enough to fit two people, let alone three, but before he can question it, River grabs his hand and tugs him in.

He nearly trips over the threshold, then again as he looks around. "It's bigger on the inside," he blurts out, as the doors snap shut behind him.

"I love it when they say that," the Doctor says, making his way over to the huge console in the middle of the room.

Because it is a giant room. It's a giant room, inside a small blue box, and it's like nothing James has ever even dreamed of. It all seems to glow, a diffused orange around the room, with a bright teal at the console, and there are stairways to doors and a pool under the console, and millions of other things that he can't stop staring at. It feels like he's stepped into a completely different world.

He walks dazedly up to the console, trying to blink away the stars from his eyes.

"There is something wrong with her," the Doctor is saying, flipping a row of switches up.

"That, or you're just rubbish," River tells the Doctor, but it sounds oddly affectionate. She makes her way over to him, flipping down all the switches he had flipped up, standing a touch closer than strictly necessary.

"Are you two...?" James asks, feeling like he's intruding, and possibly jealous of that.

"Of course not," the Doctor says.

"I forgive you for snapping, by the way."

James looks at the Doctor, confused at River's comment.

"That was directed at you, James," River continues.

James blinks. "Why would I snap at you?" he asks, ignoring the relief that comes with knowing he'll see her again.

"Spoilers," she says offhandedly.

"Right," the Doctor interrupts. He jiggles a lever, and the faint whirs in the background sound slightly happier. "Fun as this has been, we should really be going and talking to the leader of the Athwics, so James, where should we drop you off?"

"Drop him off?" River asks. "You owe him a trip."

"Do I?"

"You've given them for less."

The Doctor considers this, then claps his hands and turns to James. "Right then, any time you want to go?"

James considers this. "Any restrictions?" he asks.

"Restrictions?"

"You know -- no wishes for more wishes?"

"I understand the concept of restrictions--"

"That's debatable," River interrupts with a soft snort.

The Doctor shoots her a prim look, then continues, "I was wondering, why, when given the chance to see anything, you ask for the few things you can't see?"

James gives a loose shrug, hoping neither notice how awkward he suddenly feels.

"What are the restrictions?" the Doctor asks River, then ignores her as he starts listing, "No trying to kill any dictators on any planet in any time. That never ends well. Same goes for trying to stop major catastrophic events. There are fixed points in time, and as terrible as some of them might be, you can't change them. Of course, there are also quite a few wonderful fixed points in time, but people are likely to want to change those."

"I don't think James was planning on trying to changed fix points of time, sweetie," River interrupts.

The Doctor looks a bit put out at that, but then continues, "Right. You can't meet yourself from your past, or your future for that matter. And you don't get to meet parents that died when you were little. It's been a while since I had to deal with Reapers, and I'd rather not do it again any time soon."

James' face falls at that, and he tunes out the Doctor explaining why he can't go around installing advanced technology in his brain either.

"Why?" River asks, eyes completely on him. "Was there a happy childhood memory you would have wanted to revisit?"

"River," the Doctor says, tone low and warning.

"I was never really that happy as a child," James says. "I don't really have any happy memories."

"Nonsense!"

James turns on her. “You were there for my father’s funeral.” A sudden thought strikes him, and he adds, “And you were there when Phil and I were kidnapped.”

"Yes," River admits, smiling sadly at him.

He's about to ask why, when the Doctor gracelessly interrupts, "So what happy childhood memory would you like to revisit from a safe distance?"

The only really happy memory James can think of is the one time they all went to Paris that hadn't ended with James swearing never to talk to any of them ever again. He had thought it would, originally, since Dom had turned down his only suggestion, but instead they ended up at a bakery, where they spent the entire afternoon chatting amiably.

He had looked for the shop a couple of years ago, but the place had apparently burned down and been bought out by some huge corporation. He had always hoped there would be some way to go back, get another croissant, remember what it was like to enjoy his family's presence. And now he's in a time machine. "There was this one Parisian pastry shop I remember, from a few years ago..."

"Parisian pastry shop?" the Doctor repeats, a smile growing on his face. He strolls to the other side of the console. "Alright, never thought I would say this again, but _allons-y_!"

The Doctor pulls down on a lever, and the TARDIS starts to shake just slightly.

James sits back on the white chair, while the Doctor and River navigate the console.

The whirring noise fades.

The Doctor is out the door almost as soon as they've landed, and James is starting to feel oddly nervous about the entire thing. He steps out from the TARDIS, which is nestled between two buildings, and across the street is the bakery.

Looking back on it now, the place is an obvious tourist trap, but his breath still catches when he sees it. It's exactly as he remembers it, and his stomach is in knots as he crosses the street.

He glances inside, his eyes not quite adjusted to the change of lighting, but he still makes out something eerily familiar. He stops in his tracks.

"James?" River asks.

"Wait, I can't go in there."

"Why not?"

"I'm already in there."

The Doctor and River look inside the huge window.

In the middle of the pastry shop, at a small table, there's Arthur, Dom, Phil and a younger James.

"You can still go buy him the croissant," River tells the Doctor.

The Doctor looks hesitant. He gently moves James back to one of the tables outside the shop. "If you go in there and your younger self sees your older self, there is a good chance Reapers will come and destroy the world. That is never fun, so you are staying right here."

James sits down obediently and nods his head.

The Doctor turns to River. "He's living in a time he's already lived, and I don't trust him to not wander off, so you are to stay right here with him."

"Of course," she says, seating herself in the chair opposite James.

James stares at the wrought iron patio table, thumb idly tracing the curves. He lasts for all of a minute, before he tilts his head just so, allowing him catch sight of the scene inside.

His younger self was sitting facing away from the window. Dom was to his left, Arthur was to his right. Phil was across from him.

Faintly, he can hear River say, "I thought you didn't have any happy memories."

James is unabashedly staring into the shop by now. He didn't have happy memories, not with Dom around. He didn't allow himself to. Always figured he would have later in life to patch things up. He never noticed how old Dom looked, how tired, how sick. He ducks his head, trying to fight the sudden well of tears. He shouldn’t be this sad; he made no effort to patch things up between him and Dom, but really, neither did Dom.

"What's going on?" River asks. For a moment he was worried she was asking about _him_ , but he glances up and sees that she's gazing into the bakery.

Glancing back into the bakery, he can see Arthur and Dom having a silent conversation, while Phil looks down on him. James sheepishly explains, "Phil thought the Doctor was cute. I said he wasn't, she asked Dom to back her up, things got awkward..."

"And then?" River prompts. At his expression, she continues, "You wouldn't have wanted to come here if something good didn't happen afterwards. So what happened?"

James cocks his head to the side. "You entered, actually."

River is silent for a long moment, before she softly says, "James, the Doctor is completely mad, but he has been traveling time and space for longer than you can imagine, and if he tells me Reapers will destroy the world if I go in there, I will stay right where I am."

"Absolutely," James agrees, completely solemn. "But you're still standing right next to him." He turns to look inside.

She follows his line of sight.

Sure enough, they see an older River walk up and join the Doctor at the register.

Through the window, they see the Doctor turn and glare at them. River of the future waves at them, until the Doctor steps in front of her.

James ducks his head guiltily.

River is staring at herself, shaking her head, obviously amused.

"What, you don't come across yourself regularly?"

"Generally, no," she says. She pulls out a blue notebook, and flips towards the end.

"You must like me a lot," James says, teasing.

"Quite," she says, jotting something down.

And it's just teasing, just joking, but James feels his collar burn hot. He wants to bring up that kiss she owes him, but his tongue is thick in his mouth.

There's a ring of bells as the Doctor exits the bakery. He fixes River with a stern glare, though it only lasts a moment before it turns fond.

James' stomach tightens, and he clutches the bag tightly when the Doctor passes it to him. There's an odd tension as they enter the TARDIS again, and the trip back is silent other than the light whirring as they dematerialize and rematerialize and the crinkle of the brown paper bag as James switches it from hand to hand.

The Doctor and River walk him to the door of the TARDIS, but James is the only one that steps out of it.

"Well, James Cobb," the Doctor says, clapping his hands. "It has been--"

There's a loud bang from inside the TARDIS, and the Doctor jumps and darts out of sight.

"I keep telling him he needs to fix that," River says with a wistful smile.

"So I guess that this is it," James says awkwardly.

"One of them, yes." When James stares at her blankly, she explains, "You mentioned that I told you things yesterday. That hasn't happened for me yet, so, provided the Doctor hasn't broken the TARDIS, we're going to pop back a day so we can have that conversation."

"So we'll see each other again?" he asks.

She smiles. "Yes."

And then there's the click of the TARDIS door being closed, followed by the faint whirring noise.

"Remember," James calls after the slowly fading TARDIS, "you owe me a kiss!"

The croissant is still delicious.

 

 

**_xii_ **

His heart hammers as she walks into the restaurant.

He gets up, moves her chair out for her. Tells her she looks stunning, and gives her a kiss to her cheek before pushing her in.

"When I got your call," River says, looking up at him curiously, "I was expecting some sort of monster attack or alien invasion or natural disaster. Unless there’s something wrong with the meat?" She pauses. “No, I take that back, I don’t want to think about it.”

"Nothing's wrong," he reassures her. "It's just, it's been a month, since..."

"You almost accidentally killed yourself?" she asks.

There's a polite cough from the waiter who is standing poised with a tablet. River rattles off her drink order, and James sheepishly follows up with his own.

"I didn't know it would kill me," James says, once the waiter is out of earshot.

"I tried to warn you," River says, starting to flip idly through the menu.

"I know. Thank you."

"I'm glad you're still here."

"I know. Really," he reaches across the table, takes her hands into his. "Thank you."

She looks a bit surprised, but she squeezes his hand. “You have a wonderful life ahead of you, James Cobb, I--”

"Will you marry me?"

She looks very surprised.

James kicks himself mentally; he had been working on a whole speech, planning on building up to it through the appetizers and entrees, not just blurting it out like that. But it was out there, and River was staring at him, so he clears his throat. "I mean it."

"James..."

He reaches into his coat pocket, and pulls out the ring box. "Will you marry me?"

River doesn't meet his eyes, instead stares very carefully at the ring. Finally, she slowly asks, "Do you know what the Florence Nightingale Effect is?"

James' throat is very dry.

"It's when a patient becomes infatuated with their caregiver." She finally looks up at him. "This isn't real."

"Yes, it is," James insists. "My feelings for you are nothing new. Ever since you walked into that cafe, ever since you waited with me outside the bakery, it's all been leading to this. I love you."

"I know." River places her hand on his arm, and squeezes lightly. "But I don't."

James pulls away from her.

She gets up, and when she looks down at him her smile is sad. "You'll be glad I'm saying no."

James stares resolutely at the air in front of him.

There's a light touch on his cheek, and then she's gone.

 

 

**_xiii_ **

Phil's gay best friend walks her down the aisle, and various Japanese guys make up the groom's party.

James was never asked to take part of the wedding, and he supposes that's to be expected after three years of stony silence. And perhaps it's better; he can't remember her ever looking this happy around him.

The ceremony ends in applause and smiles, and James debates whether or not to go to the reception. In the end going back to an empty hotel suite seems more depressing, and he tails a couple of the bridesmaids to the center where the reception is being held.

An usher leads James towards a table in the corner of the room, which, from the awkward silence, James guesses is the table for the people who came alone and don't know anyone else. It doesn't matter, though -- James didn't come to chat idly with strangers, he's more interested in the food and watching his sister up at the main table.

There's a bit of pomp and circumstance once the meal is over, a few Japanese speeches that James doesn't understand, but after that it's Phil and her groom's first dance, and after that the guests start getting up and socializing.

And then there's the all too familiar clack of heels.

"River," James says, as she sits herself down next to him. There's a hot rush of embarrassment as he remembers the last time they saw each other. Or at least, the last time he saw her. "What are you doing here?"

"Your invitation allows for you to bring a plus one, doesn't it?"

James makes a noise of agreement. After a moment a thought occurs to him and he asks, "Wait, how did you get in without me or my invitation?"

River doesn't say anything, only smiles at him.

Despite himself, James finds himself huffing a laugh, before averting his attention back to the dance floor, Phil at the center of it all.

"I didn't think you were that close."

James turns his head to the side, and sees that River is watching him. He clears his throat and says, "We're not, really."

"What changed?"

He wants to state the obvious, say _she got married_ , but instead he admits, "Nothing. We're still not that close."

"You should go talk to her."

It seems like a reasonable thing to do, but after the silence following Dom's death, the ignored calls following Arthur's, the answered phone call three years back... "We should dance," James says instead.

River raises an eyebrow, but takes his offered hand and lets him lead them onto the dance floor. It's a slow-tempo song, and while James has never been to any dances before, it's easy to follow the lazy swaying going on around him.

"Really," River says, halfway into the song.

A couple passes in front of his view of his sister, and James turns back to River. "Hm?"

"I've never seen you like this before."

"Like what?" he asks idly.

"So... fond. She never seemed to be a part of your life before."

James shrugs. "I told you -- or I will tell you -- we were pretty close, until I found out what Dom did for a living, and that she didn't blame him. I was mad at her for that, and she was mad at me for that, and we didn't say a single thing to each other when our grandfather died soon after, or when Dom died a few years after that. The only time we talked was when we argued, which ended up with us getting into a huge fight, and we never really made up. The only time we've talked since was when she called in the middle of my extraction binge, but I was delirious on Somnacin, and it's been three years since and--"

"You're nervous."

He winces. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“A little, but it’s understandable. She’s all you have left.”

Something about the sentence makes his heart beat a bit faster. “I still have you, don’t I?”

She hums, and it’s not a yes or a no.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you, last time," he says, hoping that will make it all better.

"I'm sure I'll forgive you."

He can remember her doing so, over ten years ago, but it doesn't make him feel any better. "Will I see you again?"

She shrugs. "I'm a time traveler. Maybe."

He pulls back. "And I'm not, and I don't care about spoilers."

"It's possible," she says, pulling him back into the dance.

"Is that a no?"

"No."

"You're infuriating," he says. "I'm glad you said no."

They continue to dance, and he holds her as close as he can as the slow dance continues.

"At this point," she says, finally "I think you've seen more of me than I have of you, which means most of the times we meet now will have already happened for you. And if there is a new meeting, it'll be in your future, and in mine."

"And the chances of that happening?"

River says nothing, and a stab of panic runs through James.

"I don't want to say goodbye."

"That's part of growing up," she says.

"I don't want to grow up," he says. It sounds stupid and childish, and he wishes he could take it back, even as he realizes how true it is.

"If in no other time," River says, "I will meet you in thirty years. And spoilers, but you do grow up."

James stares into space for the rest of the song, wrestling down the unease in his chest, before his gaze eventually slides back to Phil.

River lifts her head from where it was resting against his shoulder, and looks up at him, fond exasperation in her smile. "James Cobb, you performed fifty-six extractions in two years, you lived through a lethal dose of Somnacin, you flew under federal watch. You are brave, and you are strong. Go dance with your sister."

James stops swaying, as does she.  Her arms are still wrapped around his neck, and his arms are around her waist. It would be so easy to brush it off, to hold her tighter and start dancing again, but he's surprised by the fact that he doesn't want to. Instead he gives her a chaste kiss and starts off across the dance floor.

Phil is dancing with an older Japanese gentleman, who James senses is the father of the groom. He isn't quite sure how to cut in, so he coughs nervously, hoping one of them will notice.

Phil does. "James?" she asks, eyes going wide.

"Hey," James says weakly. "Uh, congratulations."

The man -- who James feels is vaguely familiar, though he is completely used to the feeling by now -- says something quiet in Japanese, then nods at them both and heads over to one of the tables.

There's a few awkward moments, before James holds out his arms.

She pulls him into a tight hug. "I thought I saw you at the ceremony, but I wasn't sure." She's smiling at him as she says, "I'm glad you made it."

"I am too," he says. He keeps one hand on her back, and the other goes to clasp one of her own.

Phil looks surprised, but she's still smiling as she starts swaying with him. Even though her gaze falls just over his shoulder, she sounds sincere as she says, "I mean it."

James doesn't know how to respond to that, and glances back to the table he and River had been.

She's gone.

"Are you okay, Jamie?"

He looks back to his sister.

"You look a bit nervous."

“I’m fine, Phil.”

She laughs. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me that.”

"What do they call you now?" he asks.

"Phillipa. Ms. Cobb, though now that's Mrs. Saito."

"Missus Phillipa Saito," he says, adjusting to the new name. "Could be worse."

She rolls her eyes, but readjusts her grip around his neck. "Thanks for that, Jamie."

They dance, swaying idly.

James is pretty sure that the groom would probably like to dance with his bride, but he's glad he's getting this time with his sister.

“How have you been, since...?”

“I wasn’t high when you called,” he says, easily reading into her implication. “I was delirious.” Because he was addicted to Somnacin.

"Delirious from what?" she asks, a snap to her voice even as she keeps it quiet.

He wants to say _medicine_ , but it disturbs him to think of Somnacin as medicinal, even though that largely sums up the past few years of his life.

Phil is looking up at him, stare faintly accusing, which is a look that James got tired of ten years ago. Though in all honestly, James deserves it. "It's a long story," he says finally. "But I'm good now. Really."

She doesn't look like she believes him.

James deserves that too. He pulls back slightly. "I've taken up too many of your dances, your husband probably wants you back, and..."

"He can wait one more dance," Phil says, laying her head against James' shoulder.

It's not reconciliation, things aren't instantly repaired between them, but there's the opportunity for it, James feels the nerves in his stomach settle at the thought.

 

 

**_ix_ **

He lasts a month before he calls Jeffries again.

They meet up in a pub on a Tuesday night when he should be studying for class, but he can't really bring himself to care.

"Honestly," Jeffries is saying, slowly nursing a scotch, "I didn't think you'd be pursuing this certain line of work."

James isn't sure if it's an attempt at small talk or an insult, so he just shrugs. "Well, I am."

"I'm on a job right now," he says. "Already have an extractor."

"And what? You're working on the only extraction there is?"

Jeffries snorts at that. He scribbles a number on a napkin, slides it across the table. "This is Bryce. He's on point, has his hand on a lot of different pulses. Should be able to hook you up with a job."

He does -- Bryce is starting a job in Brussels. It's bigger than his last job, requiring a second dream level and a forger to find out whether the mark is embezzling from his company's subsidiary.

Brussels is a two hour train ride each way that overlaps with class, but James doesn't mind.

They meet just after lunch in an old office building. Bryce debriefs them, goes over the progress they're making and still need to make. The architect, a young guy named Grant, teaches James the dreamscape. The forger, an androdynous guy named Jesse, practices forging the mark's mistress on the first level and an unassuming waitress on the second. James does practice runs, plans how to chat the mark up and perfects his ability to bullshit.

The plan is this: the dreamscape is a hybrid of the mark's favorite restaurant and the restaurant of his favorite movie. Jesse, as the mark's mistress, goes in, gets the mark talking, slipping in suggestions and implications as well as a sleeping pill. The mark wakes up in the second dream, same dreamscape, mostly unaware of the first except for Jesse's influence, and then James comes in and somehow gets the details of the mark's embezzlement.

It goes off flawlessly.

James is a born natural, Byrce tells him adoringly afterwards, and James just laughs.

He makes his way to a hotel bar and calls River again, leaves her a voicemail promising to let her pick her own drink this time, and a minute later she's joining him at the bar.

An hour after that they're stumbling into James' room, not bothering with the lights, shredding clothes and laughing and falling into bed.

A while after that he wakes up to the sound of water running. He looks around blearily. The room is still mostly dark, and the clock on his cell informs him that it's too early to be awake. He flops back onto the bed, stretching and yawning, eager to fall back asleep.

It doesn't happen. The background noise of the shower running isn't background enough, and the only light coming from the ajar bathroom door and a lamp on in the corner, but James is too aware of it.

The water squeaks off and a few moments later the door opens wider, and River pads out into the room, wrapped in a towel.

James props himself up on his elbows and  watches as she picks up her clothes scattered around the room. She's slipping back into her dress when he finds himself saying, "You know... I don't really know you."

She towels off her hair. "Yes."

"Is there any reason why?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell me?"

She stares at him. "You wouldn't understand."

"Wouldn't understand what?" When River doesn't reply, he presses, "I've been inside the TARDIS."

She stops zipping up the dress and looks at him curiously. "Have you really? No wait, spoilers, I don't want to know."

James watches for a few moments while she contorts herself to zip all the way up, then asks, "Why do you always say 'spoilers'?"

"I travel with the Doctor, and we keep meeting in reverse order. And he could tell me all about the adventures he has with my future self, just like I could tell him about the adventures I have with his future self. But where's the fun in that?" she asks, shooting him a grin.

He ignores the tug of jealousy pooling in his stomach. “What about us?”

“We just don’t meet in the right order.”

“Yeah, but, last I saw you was after my first extraction, and that's the last time you saw me, right?"

“Yes. But the time before that, the last I had seen of you was when you were on a street corner crying until your grandfather came.”

“I wasn’t crying,” James says, because he wasn’t. He pauses. “I was _twelve_ when that happened.”

"My point exactly."

"So... do I meet you again?" he asks. He doesn't know if he's talking about her future, or his future, or whether they'll sleep together again, only that it doesn't sound as casual as he'd like.

"Spoilers," River says, voice a lilting sing-song.

James sits up, and leans heavily against the backboard. "Is that all you're going to give me?" he asks, but he's unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

River walks over and gives him a lingering kiss. She pulls back, then smiles and says, "Yes."

 

**_viii_**

It's been a year since he left the TARDIS.

He doesn't spend every day looking at his cell, pining after River and the Doctor, wishing he could have stayed with them. He goes to class, makes some friends, gets laid. Life goes on.

But in the minutes when he's waiting for a long lecture to end, he wonders, imagines all the possible worlds, and wants to see what they offer.

He remembers all the research he did seven years ago on dream-sharing, starts looking into it between assignments. Starts wanting the possibilities and the challenges.

He no idea what he's doing.

He figures he could call Arthur and ask him for help, but he doesn't want Arthur to know he's considering this line of work. Not yet, at least.

Instead he turns to the internet, scourging forums and message boards for dream-sharing dens in London. From there he browses the announcement boards, digging through the advertisements for forged callgirls and GHB-laced Somnacin. At the very bottom of one of the boards is an embossed business card, just a name and a number.

Jeffries is a nearing middle-aged man, with dark hair and a permanent scowl, which deepens when he finds out James has no experience. He explains that his job isn't to train him, and goes on to explain that the job is just a low-level extraction -- a jilted ex-business partner wants the changed account number.

Luc, their architect, wants to know what the cuts are, and then protests that he and James are getting too little, but even the _too little_ amount is enough to make James blush.

They work three hours every evening in an abandoned warehouse. James adapts quickly to dream-sharing, and after only five practice sessions he's able to rattle off a sixteen digit number he saw in the dream for half a second. They go through numerous trial runs, have contingencies for worse-case scenarios, iron out the plan.

Luc builds the bank, James is going to be the teller at the bank, Jeffries will be on stand-by in case James needs help selling the fact.

He doesn't.

It goes off without a hitch.

Luc is operating the PASIV on the train they cornered their mark in, James works as a harried teller at a bank who needs the mark to tell him his account number one more time if he could, and Jeffries doesn't get up from the office chair as they wait for the kick.

It's a real low-level extraction, so Jeffries and Luc both scoff at the idea of celebrating it. It should feel insulting, and James does feel sheepish for a few moments, but there's a thrill running through James' veins and he can't bring himself to care that much.

Instead, he goes to the nicest hotel with the ritziest bar in the area, orders the most expensive wine on the list, then pulls out his phone, and confidentially calls the number River gave him.

It goes to voicemail.

It's a bit disheartening, but she's a time traveler, if he ask her to meet him here, she can meet him here. He's still riding the rush of the extraction, and feeling a bit bold, so he just says, "It's James. I have something to tell you. Find me."

He orders another glass of wine, and passes it over when River walks in a minute later.

"What's the occasion?" she asks, idly swirling the red liquid.

"I just completed my first extraction," he says, holding up his wine glass.

River doesn't clink their glasses. She doesn't even look excited.

James can't describe why it hurts as bad as it does.

 

 

**_iii_ **

James makes sure to slam the door as hard as he can as he storms out of the apartment.

He doesn't know what he hates more -- that his father is a criminal, or that his father killed his mother. They both make his blood boil, and he stomps down the flights of stairs to the ground floor.

They've only just moved to London, and James doesn't know his way around the neighborhood, but he doesn't care, and picks a direction and walks away from everything. Away from him father who is a murderer and a criminal. Away from his sister who doesn't care about him but to call him contrary.

The sun is setting and it's getting chilly and James sits down and glares at everyone and everything passing.

He doesn't know what to expect. Dom isn't going to come after him, he's too much of a bastard. Phil isn't going to come after him, she was siding with him.

(Arthur isn't going to come after him, he hasn't been around since he got into an argument with Dom three weeks ago.)

As the minutes tick by his frown lessens, until he's just watching bored as the world passes by him. Cars of every color drive past, interspersed with the occasional bike. The sun dips below the horizon, and James pulls his sleeves down over his hands, starting to shiver. He watches people as they pass. A couple here, a couple there, a woman by herself, a group of college students, a couple dressed as ancient Egyptians, a man walking his dog.

No one seems to notice James, and he just huddles closer in on himself.

It's his grandfather who finds him almost an hour later. He sits down on the curb, his movements slow and careful. "Your father called me," he says after a long silence, and suddenly James' anger returns.

"I hate him," he says, almost shocked by how much he means it. "He killed maman, the woman he  loved, your daughter. How can you stand being around him?"

"Because he is my son, and I love him, and he loves me."

"If that's how he loves, I don't want him to love me."

His grandfather looks at him, sad, and James wants to apologize, take back what he said, but his father -- _Dom_ doesn't deserve that.

James looks away, down at the ground, glaring, unable to stop shivering. It's stopped when his grandfather drapes his jacket over him.

"I know you're angry at your father," he says, keeping an arm wrapped around him. "And I understand why. I was angry too, for a while. But he is family--"

"He kills his family."

"Not intentionally. _Never_ intentionally. He's only ever done anything out of love."

James pouts. "I don't want him to love me," he repeats petulantly.

His grandfather pats James on his back. "I know. But Dom is worried, and so are Phillipa and Arthur."

"Arthur?" James repeats, looking up at him. "Arthur's back?"

"No, but he should be home in half an hour or so. If we head back now, we can make sure to be there before he gets home."

James bites his bottom lip, and pulls the jacket around him tighter. "Can we take the long way home, so he'll be home when we get back?"

His grandfather looks down at him and smiles. "Of course, Jamie."

 

 

**_xi_ **

The next three months pass in a blur. The day after Arthur's funeral service, he calls and pulls out of school in the airport before catching a flight to Zurich. He can't reach Jeffries, but Bryce pulls him into a job when his extractor pulls out. They've been planning and rehearsing the job for a month, and there's a week until the mark is under for a dental appointment and he works non-stop and he is fucking brilliant.

Bryce is relieved, Grant is in awe.

They suggest they go celebrate, and to James the glow of a job well done is more than enough reward, but Bryce _insists_ , and James agrees because he figures it's best to keep his pointman happy. This pays off the next morning, when James insists that Bryce figure him in on his next job, and so the next morning after that they're off to Milan.

In Milan there's a low-level bureaucrat a shady business man wants to know the inner devils of. After that, a high-profile politician's wife wants to know if he's cheating on her, then there's a job with three different forgers to get a fashion designer's latest collection, then there's a job with an Australian businessman for a mark.

After that Bryce refuses to include him on any more jobs until James takes a break, so James hangs up and is talking to Jeffries less than a minute later.

A few jobs later he's back with Bryce, and he cycles freely between him, Jeffries and a young woman named Simone.

He shuffles through architects, a women named Liv, a young student named Rosaline, Grant, or the newest up-and-coming prodigy for jobs with Bryce or Jeffries or Simone in Madrid, Rome, Paris.

Jobs aren't supposed to be recorded, but he fills up a black leather Moleskin with Zurich/Browning/train and Vienna/Ruger/opera, and another with all the names and numbers of the pointmen and forgers and chemists and architects, with wavering lines through the ones that have died or won't answer his calls.

More 'respectable' extractors fall into the later category, so his Innsbruck/Chapman/spa changes into Tokyo/Nambu/ambush as he shifts business partners, then onto Geneva/Repa/solo as he gets tired of splitting the money.

Not that money is any concern; he flies first class with champagne and stays in five-star hotels, spends thousands on Somnacin, but the amount in his bank accounts keeps climbing.

And then the public becomes aware of dream-sharing, and there's a cry of outrage, and a demand that mind crimes be persecuted, but James doesn't give a fuck, and if anything he's glad for it, there's more jobs available for him when most extractors get arrested or pull out of the business.

The conviction rate for forgers is the lowest, so James goes under and doesn't kick himself out of the dream until he can forge like the best of them. And then he goes under again, and hones the architectural skills he learned when he went solo. And then he goes under again, and he raises a city from the ground in an instant, and then it's the inside of an airplane, and then it's a busy highway, and he cycles through dreamscapes and he cycles through forged bodies and he truly can do anything.

He's contacted by a pointman who obviously hasn't been on point that long, for an extortion extraction on a politician James has never heard of before. James doesn't care. If the architect is as useless as the pointman, James can extract the employer's name from them and do the job solo. But he's not, so James works with them for a few days (they ask if he needs longer and James isn't boasting when he says he's done jobs in less), the architect makes sure to have a safe in the hotel room in the dreamscape and him and the pointman are going to keep the mark busy while James breaks into the room and into the safe, and it's a solid plan but James has them go under a few times more anyways.

They get the mark on the train back into London, and six minutes before the train will be pulling in they go under.

And it's an easy job, a simple job, but there's something terribly wrong because once James tries to leave the hotel lobby all the projections turn on him.

He's moments away from dying when the pointman and the architect step in, and something is extremely wrong because he can't hear what they're saying, and the next thing he knows they're yelling at him in a dark room and beating the shit out of him.

Five minutes on the train is an hour in the dream and it's been years since it's felt this long.

The kick goes off, he can hear the strains of music, but he hears it both slowed down as in dream and regularly as it comes through the headphones.

His body is still screaming in phantom pain and James' eyes open but everything is overlaid with the image of the dark room and he's on his feet and then falling to the ground and even that doesn't kick him out of the dream, he doesn't even know if he's dreaming and awake or awake and dreaming, only that something is _wrong_ before everything fades to black.

When he wakes up, he is surprised to be alive.

Or at least he thinks he's alive, because death doesn't hurt, and he's really hurting, although maybe he's he's in hell, he's probably in hell, that would explain the heat and the fires and the orange. Doesn't explain the rocking motion, though. Maybe he's on an ocean. Or a sea or a lake or a river.

River is above him, her hair streaming like the sun, if the sun had reddish roots. She's completely still even though there's an earthquake, and he thinks it's fitting, her his anchor as the world fucks itself.

He makes a disgruntled noise as the shakes intensify and his raft shouldn't be tossed by the sea this much if he's got an anchor.

She leans in, and she's saying something, asking something, her voice lilting and raising in a question, and James is a better lucid dreamer than this, he can remember dialogue from dreams once he's awake again, he should be able to distinguish what she's saying.

The only thing that makes sense is James, and how his name falls from her lips.

He clasps a hand around her neck. "You're absolutely beautiful," he murmurs, or something like it.

Her brow furrows, and she says something. He knows she's saying, "You're burning up," some part of his brain knows that, but all he can make out is the movement of her lips. He pulls her down, presses his lips against hers. They’re cold, really fucking cold, and it makes sense, really, since there are iceburgs forming in the corner of his eye and he's pretty sure they're in the arctic.

She's saying something, and it's like a song, and it's made even better by the accompanying press of a needle.

He laughs and laughs as the bright colors swimming in his vision fade to black and he laughs and--

When he wakes up, he's surprised that he's alive, and momentarily wishes he wasn't. He didn't even have his eyes open for a moment, but the insides of his eyelids are still burning.

He must have given some indication of being awake, though, for there's a shuffling to his side, and a worried, "James?"

"River?" he asks, before realizing his throat was raw and scratchy and talking really hurt. Then there's a cup at his lips, and he cracks his eyes open just enough to the glass of water. He tips his head back, and a hand comes up to support the back of his neck as he takes a slow, careful sip.

"River?" James asks again, and thankfully it doesn't hurt nearly as bad this time. "What happened?"

"Somnacin killed your father, it killed your uncle, and it almost just killed you."

James' brain doesn't feel like it's online quite yet, he's still busy taking in the sharp lines and crispness of the room, so he only manages a strangled, "What?"

"Somnacin," River says slowly. "You almost overdosed on it. Your blood content level was almost point-five percent, which would have been enough to kill you if the -- if we hadn't been there for you."

James nods dumbly, and keeps doing so as River explains how they found out a pair of private investigators-slash-thugs had been searching for him, planning on torturing him for information and than turning him over to the authorities; how they had given him too much street Somnacin; how he had barely had a pulse when they found him.

"Where am I now?" James asks, looking around. It's what seems to be a small examination room, and he's still a bit shocked by how much clearer things are.

"In the TARDIS, in one of its infirmaries. We're either still outside New Earth, or just idling in the time vortex."

James makes a noncommittal noise, then holds up his hands. They're remarkably still. "If I just overdosed," he says, surprised at how blase he sounds, "shouldn't I be... I don't know, jittery or something?"

"You'd be amazed at how much medicine advances in your future."

"So I'm--" James cuts himself before he asks if he's _clean_ , because he's not a drug addict.

River assures him, "You're perfectly fine."

"Or you should be," an brusque voice adds.

It's the Doctor, James is almost certain. He looks different, and River once explained regeneration to James, but more than that he _feels_ different. Harsher. Colder.

James continues lying there, staring up at the plain white ceiling, mentally replaying everything River said. "River..." he says, finally starting to sit up. "What you said about Arthur..."

"What did you say about Arthur?" the Doctor asks, voice sharp, glaring at River.

"Was it true?" James asks, ignoring the Doctor.

River's gaze flicks over towards the Doctor, before she sheepishly explains, "Somnacin is poisonous, when used for a long enough amount of time."

His stomach is in knots because he gets it, his body gets it, but James' brain feels like it's a few steps behind. "So...?" he prompts.

"Your father spent so much time hooked up to the PASIV, the Somnacin just wore down his body. It was also affecting your uncle, but since he was exposed to much lower doses over a long period of time, it wasn't enough to kill him, only enough to cause him absolute agony."

And Arthur popped pills like a narcotic for months leading up to his suicide -- to his death.

James is suddenly shaking, and he doesn't know if it's from the sudden cold he's feeling, the withdrawal kicking in, or the realization his life is in the gutter.

"Couldn't you have told me this earlier?" James asks, shivering still.

"She wasn't even supposed to have told you this now," the Doctor says, voice still cold. "The knowledge that Somnacin is poisonous isn't proven by the scientific community until ten months in your future."

"Thank you," James says.

River won't meet his eyes.

"If you're feeling better, which, judging by the fact you're finally capable of stringing more than three words together, you are, I would appreciate it if you would leave my TARDIS."

"Why?" James asks stupidly, feeling more and more certain there's something wrong with the Doctor.

The Doctor fixes him with an annoyed stare. "Because we've already spent enough time on this little detour, and I'm not particularly keen on spending any more time on it."

"But--" River starts.

"No buts, River."

And there's no way this can be the Doctor, but frankly James can't bring himself to care. He gets to his feet, lets the Doctor lead him out of the TARDIS, onto the patio of his London apartment, then through the doors as the Doctor sonics them open.

James makes his way to the couch, and, for the first time in a long time, falls into a dreamless sleep.

 

 

**_ii_ **

Phil is scared, and she's seven, so James knows that whatever's going on is real scary.

James doesn't know how long they've been there, the mean men took his and Phil's watches. The mean men also took their backpacks, and told them to stay in different corners in the dusty old room they were put in, or else. Phil didn't ask _or else what?_ , only went to the corner they told her to. She didn't say anything, either, when James asked her what to do, and one of the mean men shoved him towards the opposite corner, where James has stayed ever since.

He wants to leave, but doesn't know how, or what to do, so he sits and tries not to be too scared.

There are loud bangs outside the room.

The door opens, and the bangs get louder.

James wants to run to Phil for safety, but Daddy once told him that if he heard gunshots than he should lie flat on the ground until a grown-up told him it was okay to get up.

The gunshots are loud, and James is about to cover his ears when they go quiet.

"James? Phil?"

It's Daddy and Uncle Arthur.

James looks up, and yells, "Daddy!"

Daddy goes right to Phil, picks her up and holds her tight. He shushes her when she bursts into tears.

Uncle Arthur walks towards James and picks him up. James wraps his arms around Arthur's neck. Arthur is talking in hushed, quiet tones, like his maman used to do when he couldn't sleep. James wraps his arms tighter.

And then Arthur is moving. "James, I need you to keep your eyes closed, you got that?"

James nods, and shuts his eyes real tight. In the background, Phil's cries get louder.

"Make sure to keep them closed, James," Arthur says, very softly.

He just burrows his head into the crook of Arthur's shoulder. He keeps his eyes shut as they go down a lot of steps and walk a long time. Then it's colder, and James shivers. He sneaks a peek, and sees that they're outside, and it's real dark out.

"It's okay, now," Arthur says softly, running a hand through James' hair.

James looks over Arthur's shoulder, and sees Captain Jack Harkness side-by-side a really pretty woman.

Daddy has Phil is one hand, and a silver briefcase in the other. He says something and it's angry, and Captain Jack is smiling but it isn't happy.

The woman with him looks at James, and she looks at him funny, but then she and Captain Jack and the silver briefcase disappear with a _vwrop_.

 

 

**_v_ **

Phil is seated at a chair, sobbing her eyes out. A few of her friends are sitting next to her, alternating between cooing over her and texting. There's a young Japanese boy also by her side, one hand on her shoulder, the other offering a tissue.

James is at Arthur's side, where he's spent the entirety of the reception. He's kinda starting to get tired of standing, but Arthur hasn't shown any hint of weariness, so James doesn't say anything.

The expected people come to mourn -- the neighbors, Dom's co-workers, Arthur's co-workers, Phil's teachers, James' teachers, an elderly Japanese man that has visited a few times before. They're all familiar faces, if only just vaguely. The only people James doesn't recognize are a man and a woman, who blend in perfectly with the other mourners, but somehow stand out even more for that.

It's near the end of the reception when they finally head over. The man looks old, skin rough and leathery, walking with a cane. The woman with him is younger, but she looks frail, skin too pale.

There's a flicker of emotion in Arthur's eyes.

The man steps forward first. He gives James a pitying smile, then turns towards Arthur. "I'm sorry," he says, voice gravely and rough, with a slight accent. "I know how close the two of you were."

People have been giving their condolences for the past hour, but this is the first time Arthur doesn't say anything in response.

The woman doesn't say anything, only steps forward and wraps Arthur in a frail embrace.

James looks up at Arthur.

There are tears in Arthur's eyes. He wraps his arms around the woman, holds her close. After a few moments, his shoulders start to shake.

He's crying.

Over Dom.

James doesn't get it, he just doesn't fucking get it.

And -- looking at Arthur grieve in this stranger's hold -- James feels like he's interrupting. He takes a step back, and another, and no one is paying him attention, so James turns and walks away.

When he's out of the main room, he breaks into a run, trying to get as far away as he can.

He finds himself in a back hall, that seems to get no traffic. He leans against the wall, suddenly feeling dizzy. He slides down, and there's a few quick moments in which his breathing speeds up, and then he's sobbing.

There's the clack of heels and squeak of sneakers coming down the hallway.

James hurriedly wipes at his face, getting snot all over his cuffs. The footsteps have stopped, and James looks up to see the two looking down at him. They're nothing like the pair that approached Arthur -- the man only looks aged through his gray hair, and the young woman next to him looks vibrant. And while dressed nicely -- her in a dress, him in a blazer -- they look to causal to be at a funeral.

"Sorry," the man says. "Got lost."

The girl he's with glares at him, then sinks down so she's crouching, almost eye to eye with James. She smiles gently. "You're James, right?"

James sniffles, breath hitching, and he can't remember the last time he felt so young.

"We're very sorry for your loss," she says, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. Her voice is sweet and innocent, and she had no idea what she's talking about.

But still, he feels a bit better.

 

 

**_xiv_ **

"Dream-sharing," James begins, looking around the packed lecture hall, "was invented in the early two-thousands. Early on, it was used exclusively by the military. But, as soldiers were discharged, or they left, or they went AWOL, dream-sharing spread to the black market underworld. Extraction, the idea of going into a mark's dream and stealing their secrets, soon dominated the underworld, and became the most reliable form of corporate espionage. Armed with a PASIV Device, a dose of Somnacin and a few minutes alone with your mark, you could extract all the secrets from them.

"The act was made public twenty years later, and there was outrage was worldwide. Pressure from the media pushed laws into effect in a very short amount of time that made the act of extraction illegal.

"Not that it mattered, much. Most of the people within the dream-sharing business were dead or dying, from Somnacin overdose.

"My maternal grandfather, Dr. Stephen J. Miles, was one of the founders of dream-sharing. My father, Dominick Cobb, was the most skilled extractor of his generation.

"Ten years later, the statute of limitations for any mind crimes has passed, and I can safely say that I am James Cobb, and I was the most skilled extractor of my generation."

There's a buzz of whispered conversations at the last statement, so James takes a moment to look around the hall.

The first few dozen rows are filled with students, the last few rows are selected members of the press, and in between that are a few rows of civilians who were able to talk their way in. And in the middle of it all is a man he scarcely recognizes but a young woman that he can never forget.

He smiles briefly, but pushes it out of mind. The possibility of catching their attention was a draw of agreeing to give this lecture, it's not his main focus.

The world wants to know about extraction, and it's time he takes responsibility for his actions.

The lecture ends a few hours later, and he lets the security guards escort him back to the office that is serving as his green room. Just inside the door frame, he turns towards the nearest security guard.  “I refuse to see anyone, unless they are part of the Ataraxani committee.”

The guard falters. “I'm sorry, Mr. Cobb, the--?”

“Ataraxani committee.”

The guard looks like he's about to question it, so James steps into the office and politely shuts the door. He settles himself down in the comfier of the two chairs provided, sighing as he leans back in the chairs. And then he waits.

He can hear the buzz of the investigators and the journalists, the paparazzi and the protesters.

After five minutes it ebbs down, and after another five there's a knock at the door. The guard sticks his head in, looking a bit bewildered. "Excuse me, Mr. Cobb, there are two members of the Atara... of the committee."

"Send them in," James says.

He enters first. His hair is graying and his eyes are old, but his body looks spry and his smile is youthful.

She follows a step after him. She's younger than James has ever seen her, her hair a deep reddish brown, still in tight curls, her eyes bright as gazes around the room before settling on him.

James' heart breaks, as he realizes this is the last time he'll ever see her. It doesn't hurt, though, because as he stares back, he knows that it was worth it.

"I'm the Doctor, and--"

She interrupts him. She holds out her hand, and proudly says, "I'm River Song."

He shakes her hand, and smiles. "It's an honor to meet you."


End file.
